


It Was My Fault

by hysteria



Series: One Slip of the Knife [1]
Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Self Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteria/pseuds/hysteria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emerson can't take it anymore, he blames himself for the death of Morgan. But he wants so badly for Chandler to forgive him. One slip of the knife is all it takes for Emerson to lose control.</p><p>[Warning - Will contain self harm and other triggers]</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was My Fault

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to get quite bad in terms of self harm and low self esteem so I'm plastering this with trigger warnings.  
> I do NOT endorse self harm nor agree with it, but I can understand why those who do it, do it.

It started 3 months after the death of Morgan. When Kent could no longer deal with the disappointment he felt whenever he looked at Chandler, and the look of loathing his DI returned him whenever they caught each other’s eyes from across the room. Kent blamed himself for the death of her, and he knew Chandler blamed him as well. They’d barely spoken to one another since the case of the Boogeyman, except for the occasional order from the DI and the reporting of new information from the DC. The rest of the team had noticed their lack of communication and distance from one another but never mentioned it for fear of causing any more friction within the team. 

It had been a particularly bad day for Kent, he’d failed to gain any more information on the new case they’d been given a few days before. A body of a woman had been found cut up and stuffed inside a suitcase near the bins behind St. Bartholomew’s University. They’d suspected it was someone trained with using knives as the cuts were done precisely and neatly. The only trouble was that it was the only bit of information they had to go on. With the rising tension between Kent and Chandler the team were also becoming increasingly frustrated, especially with the lack of progress and new information with this new case. 

They were at a dead end for the day, and Chandler knew it. He had decided to clock everyone off early to allow them a good nights rest before starting the next day with fresh and clear minds. 

As Kent was leaving with everyone else, he briefly glanced over at the DI who had returned to his office shutting the door behind him before sitting down and rubbing Tiger Balm on his temples. The case had obviously affected him as much as it had the others. Kent sighed before turning around to catch up with the team who were heading to the pub for a quick drink before heading back home to their families. 

They’d only intended on having a pint each, but soon one became five, five become shots and they’d finished the day all drunk. They started discussing Mansell and his love life before talk inevitably fell onto the case. They spent three hours trying to find leads but too no avail. They sat in silence for a few moments before Mansell and his drunken self bought up the issue of Kent and Chandler’s refusal to speak to one another. Kent was stunned and stared at his lap unable to say anything before than whispering to himself, “It was my fault.” Riley came to his aid as soon as Mansell brought up the topic and told him to shut it. It was Miles who suggested they all go home, and being the sensible one, got a taxi home whereas Riley, Buchan and Mansell decided to walk. Kent turned down the offer from Miles to taxi share, claiming he’ll walk home in a bit when he’s more sober. 

Instead of going home, Kent stayed for another hour consuming half a bottle of Jack Daniels trying to forget the world completely, but it doesn't work. It's nearly 10pm when Kent finally stumbled home, one drink away from paralytic drunk. Once inside his flat, which took him almost ten minutes to get in, he took off his shoes and jacket before falling on to his sofa.

He lay there for a while staring up at the ceiling, his drunk mind swirling too many thoughts around his head for him to deal with; the case, Chandler, Morgan, Chandler. It was evident that Kent was torn, his face was forlorn and his eyes were red and swollen, as if he were to start crying. 

“Get up, sort yourself out and don’t cry over your boss. He’s nothing to you and you are nothing to him,” Kent thought to himself before finally sitting up. He took his socks and trousers off, folding them over the arm of the sofa and stood up. It took a few moments to balance himself out before he walked over to the kitchen to make himself a strong cup of coffee. He put the kettle on, got a mug out the cupboard and used a teaspoon to put some coffee into it. 

As he waited for the water to boil he walked over to his fridge and got the cheese out. Whenever he got drunk he always got the munchies and cheese was usually his first choice of food. He stumbles over to the kitchen worktop and pulls open a draw to reveal this cutlery, and pulls out a knife. He cuts himself a slice of cheese then returns to finish making his cup of coffee. 

He took the cheeseboard, knife and cup of coffee with him to bed, not bothering to lock up his flat properly or finish removing his work clothes. He sits there in silence sipping his coffee and eating slices of cheese. It’s nearly midnight and Kent can hear the rain splashing his windows getting stronger when suddenly there is a flash of lightning closely followed by a loud cracking of thunder which makes Kent jump, spilling his coffee all over him and his bed. 

The still scolding hot coffee spills over his thighs and groin and as he attempts to sit up and go to the bathroom the knife he forgets he is holding slices into his leg. Kent yelps in pain and looks down to see blood spilling out a long cut running across his right thigh. 

The pain reminds him of being striped by the Kray’s but this time he is not bothered or frightened by it, in some bizarre way Kent relishes in the relief the cut has given him. It’s as if the cut, blood and pain are allowing Kent to get rid of some of the anguish he’s been building up inside himself about work, but most importantly, about Chandler.


End file.
